


My Unfinished Writing Things

by ETNMystic



Series: Mystic's Original Works (Possibly Transferred From My Other Accounts On Other Writing Sites) [25]
Category: Original Work
Genre: these get weird
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 19,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24080431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ETNMystic/pseuds/ETNMystic
Summary: Sometimes I start writing something, and then I don't come back to it until like years later, and then I wonder what the hell I was thinking.If I finish any of these, I'll post them as their own things and delete their respective chapters. Probably.
Series: Mystic's Original Works (Possibly Transferred From My Other Accounts On Other Writing Sites) [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1726699
Comments: 37
Kudos: 2





	1. Memory Manor

"For the last time, there are no such things as witches!" my mom snaps at me as we pull up to our new house; a dusty, two-story manor with a front porch surrounded by a small, moss-covered, brick wall with statues of guards bowing at the entrance.

"But this is Salem," I protest as I put down my novel.  
"And the Witch Trials---"

"Cassie," my dad interjects immediately as if the subject is a taboo.  
"The witch trials were just a bunch of idiotic, paranoid Pilgrims who wanted an excuse to use up old fire wood. Now I don't want to hear anymore on the subject."

The musty chalk scent hits my nostrils as we step out of our car. As I unload my collection of Halloween decor for my room, my black cat Whisper begins to observe the grounds. Ironically, though I thought he might be frightened as he did the last time we moved, he seems at ease. 


	2. Memory Manor, Part 2, Apparently

"Cassie! In here," Adrian calls urgently from his front porch.

As the mob approaches, I can feel the blazing heat upon my skin. I snatch Whisper and run inside the manor. Adrian slams the door and jams the key inside. With a violent turn, the click of a lock washes part of the dread from my stomach. For a few moments, I keep absolutely still as he runs around locking doors and tying the curtains shut. 

"Are you alright, Cassie?" he asks concerned.

I try to nod, but the thought of what I was told by Ruby in the mob is still stuck in my mind. Everything I'd been holding in since the confrontation bursts from my eyes in a tidal wave of tears. Whisper jumps off of my lap as Adrian approaches. He sits down beside me and rubs my back.

"There, there. It's okay."

"No, it's not okay!" I sob angrily.  
"The whole town is out to kill me. My best friend just turned against me. My parents even kicked me out of the house. Are you trying to tell me that all of that is okay?"

"No, not that. What I meant was I have a solution. Why don't you live with me?"

I look at him in shock.

"R-really?" I ask trying to dry my tears.

"Yeah," he says with a nod.   
"I can protect you from the town. You don't need your so-called best friend. And no good parents would ever throw their kid out of the house if they disapproved of something about them. So what do you say?"

This seems too good to be true. The boy I'm crushing on, first offering me a place to hide and now a place to live. 

"I say yes! Yes, I will live with you, Adrian."

I pull him into a huge hug. It lasts for sometime before a question pops into my head.

"Wait. Won't your parents try to kill me?" I exclaim worried.

He gives a chuckle that makes me feel a bit uncomfortable. It's casual, but a bit sinister on the edge as well. 

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about them," he tells me.   
"They're not coming back here."

"Oh," I exclaim.  
"Why not?"

He stands up. Holding out his hand, I grab it and push myself up. 

"It's a bit complicated," he tells me. 

The feeling of dread slowly begins to return to my stomach.

"Complicated how?" I ask nervously.

Adrian gives another sinister chuckle. 

"Oh, dear Cassandra. You're so adorable when you show concern. Have a seat."

He indicates to a large, warped, wooden chair. Maybe it's my paranoia. Maybe I feel like something really is amiss, but there's no way I'm sitting in that thing. 

"I think.....I'd rather stand," I tell him.

"Please. I insist," he urges.  
"Your legs must feel awfully sore after all of that running."

I begin to tell him that no, my legs felt fine. I'd like to stand if it's all the same to you. But suddenly my legs begin to feel sore and tense. As I continue protesting, I grip my knuckles, trying to soften the pain in my legs; however it soon becomes unbearable to the point where my legs give way. I collapse to the floor with a thud.


	3. The Writer Chronicles: The Secret of the Inkwell: Chapter 1: The Quill and the Cat:

In a small, quaint town in England resides a small, quaint neighborhood. In that neighborhood lies the Blackwood Manor. On the walkway of the manor, two girls toss a ball back and forth to one another. One has flowing-brown hair, light skin, and blue eyes. The other has black hair, striking-brown eyes, and darker skin. They smile and laugh as they play barefoot in the sun.

Watching them through a window in the parlor is a small girl. She has golden blonde hair, pale skin, and gray, heavily patterned eyes. She is a bit round for her age and has a baby face. But her eyes are old and wise. 

That girl in the parlor window? That's me. Luna. And the two girls playing with the ball are my sister, Laura, and her friend, Eliza-Jane. It's not that I'm not allowed to play with them. They just don't like me because I don't like what they like. 

My sister and I are two very different people, even though we are twins. She is eight minutes older than me. I like writing and soundtrack music. She likes sports and celebrities, particularly boy bands. I love stories, especially when I'm writing one. The only books my sister reads are realistic fiction and, on rare occasions, fantasy. She takes no interest in what I like at all. 

I hop off the window seat and head to the study. This is the only place where I can find solitude in a world where my peers don't care about my interests, as they are too absorbed in their own. I pick up the quill on the desk and dip it in the inkwell while thinking carefully about the content on the parchment. What shall it be today? A horror story? A fantasy story? A murder mystery? 

I've only just touched the parchment with the quill when I hear the front door open and close. Here comes Laura and Eliza-Jane. I hear their footsteps headed for the study and I prepare myself for my daily dose of criticism about how writing is trash and how I should take a liking to men.

I hear them come up behind me.

"Hey look!" 

Eliza-Jane is the most critical of the duo. I honestly don't know why Laura is still friends with her. It could have something to do with how her father has a lot of wealthy connections. 


	4. The Memorial Offering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: Bible stuff, child abuse, 1984 shit.

I don't really think I'm anything special. But who does, in reality, when you live in a neighborhood full of demons and ghosts watching you at every turn? It's basically all I know; those creatures wandering about the streets make it hard for me to focus on just about anything else. That, and the giant wall surrounding the city. They say it keeps us from all the dangers of the outside world. Though I have a feeling that there's more to it than they say.

The strangest thing is it seems I'm the only one who can see it all year-round. For the rest it's like nothing ever happened. They just go about day in and day out as if the wall and the ghosts and demons just don't even exist; that is, until the Day of the Offering comes around. That's when people begin to glance about and avoid all contact. 

But then why do I think I'm not anything special? Because I just don't have a talent. To placate people after the monsters drained us of various talents to promote equality among us, they gave everybody a special talent. But somehow they forgot to give one to me. I'm just average at everything; average at best. Terrible at worst. I can't even string little paragraphs together, which is why some of this doesn't make sense to you. I just want a talent like baking or singing. 

Anyway, where was I? Oh right. Speaking of the Day of the Offering, that's in a few hours. What happens is one of us is chosen to be given to the monster overlord and.....that's it. No one ever sees or hears from the chosen offering ever again. As soon as they're gone, everyone seems to forget them, almost as if they never even existed. How do I know this? Because I've tried to forget and it doesn't work for me.

I look up at the posters in my bedroom:

"Ignorance is Bliss," shouts one.

"Obedience is Everything," cries another.

"Knowledge is Poison," spits a third.

"Do it to Julia! Do it to Julia!" I say sarcastically to the propaganda.

I give a small chuckle, careful not to be so apparent. Laughter is not allowed. All of a sudden, I hear loud groans and moans. Peeking through my window shades, I see the demons are now appearing to the majority. One comes out of a house, dragging a child by their ankles. The child begins to cry and scream as their head hits the concrete road, but no one goes to help. Not even the parents. Even if they wanted to, even if they felt like I did, they couldn't. We're not allowed.

"Emotion is Weakness."

The child leaves behind a trail of blood, skin, and some hair. I want to go out into the streets and cry, "For God's sake, can't you see he's in pain? Have you no mercy, you hell-scorched bastards? He needs care and healing!" But that falls under two transgressions; empathy and religious mentions of foreign kind. 

"Religion is Slavery."

I head to my nightstand and pulled out a Bible I scavenged from a burning a few years back. I flip to a verse I marked and look at the boy. He's now clawing at the ground and I can hear him cry out in torturous pain. 

_"'Revelation 21:4,'"_ I whisper as I stare at the child.

_ "'He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.'" _

I never fully understood them, but reading the passages gives me hope that perhaps there is a God that gives healing where the monsters allow none. 

"Suffering is Pleasure."

"Mercy," the house man calls; father and mother or any words indicating bonds of love are forbidden.  
"Come along. The Offering will begin soon."

I shove the Bible into my bag; I always take it as a hope that I don't get picked. 

"Coming," I say. 

I pat the spot in my bag where the Bible lies.

"Lying is Insubordination."


	5. Okay, let's just give it a try:

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genre: Horror.  
> Place: Forest.  
> Time: Summer.  
> Name: Haley.  
> Enemy: The Mind.

I was only twelve. My parents had dropped me off at summer camp at the beginning of June. As you can imagine, there was a lot of time outdoors, singing, and perky camp counselors. I didn't quite see through it at the time, but now that I look back on it, something seemed off about how perky they were. 

Anyway, near the end of August, camp traditions began to dictate how we lived. One of those was the annual all-day scavenger hunt. We were put into groups of three; my group consisted of me, my best friend Jace, and another girl named Ingrid. Each team was given a map, a flashlight, some food and water, a flare gun, a med kit, and some rope.

So we were doing okay. We managed to stay well in the ranks for the first few hours. Then came darkness. 

We'd be trudging through the woods for what seemed like days to search for the last three clues. When Ingrid and I wanted to bail, Jace pulled us back. 

"I'm not gonna lose to Kelly Maverick this year," she insisted. 

She kept insisting on it for the duration of our hunt. 

"Jace, come on," I said after some time wandering in the dark.   
"I think it's time we head back."

"No way!" she spat.  
"I'm gonna find those last three clues."

But despite her protests, her voice gave an indication of wear and tear. 

"We're not gonna find anything now. It's way too dark to see anything," Ingrid pointed out.

"She's right, Jace. I think we should call it quits."

"I'm not gonna bring home shame again this year!" Jace snapped.   
"I will find the clues even if I have to tear this entire forest apart. And besides, we have a flashlight."

She took off the duffel bag with our supplies and searched inside for the light. I could hear the supplies rustling inside. 

"Shit," she said.  
"It's not there."

"What do you mean it's not there?" Ingrid asked in a shaky voice.

"I mean, it's not there. It's missing. How else would I say it, you dodo?

"Hey!"

"Do either of you have it on your person?"

I could hear Ingrid checking herself as I did the same.

"Nope," I said.

"Nada," Ingrid replied.

"Fuck," Jace said.   
"What do we do now?"

All three of us gave some thought. 

"Do we still have the flare gun?" Ingrid suggested. 

"That's only for emergencies though," Jace blurted. 

"We're lost in the woods in the dark with no flashlight and no sense of direction. I think that constitutes an emergency," I said. 

I snatched in the area where I thought the bag was. I heard someone pulling it away. 

"Hey! Don't touch it," Jace yelled.

"We need that flare, Jace," I explained.  
"Otherwise we're gonna be stuck here."

"If we set off that flare, they're gonna come get us and then we're gonna forfeit the hunt."

"You know, if you think about it, they've probably ended the hunt by now," Ingrid pointed out.

"What time is it?"

"No clue."

"Can you check?" 

"Oh sure. I'll just pull out my cellphone and take a look!"

Cellphones weren't allowed at camp, which is a really stupid policy if you think about it. I mean, by that time, most kids had one and knew how to phone for help if they were lost. 

"You didn't have to snap at me," Ingrid exclaimed. 

"You didn't have to be such an idiot," Jace retaliated. 

"Hey!" I yelled.  
"Calm down, you two. We're gonna get out of this, I promise."

"With the last three clues?" 

"No promises there, but I do promise we'll get out of here."

"Maybe we should split up?" Ingrid suggested. 

"That never ends well," Jace added.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Haven't you seen any horror movies that take place in nature?"

"Okay, but we're not in a horror movie."

"And besides we can't even see each other."

"With that in mind, would it even matter if we split up? I mean, we could sneak away and no one would know."

"That's exactly what we DON'T wanna do. Because if we need each other, we can only rely on each other's voices."

"Can't we just yell for each other though?"

Suddenly I heard it; a low growl coming from seemingly nearby. 

"What was that?" I asked.

"What was what, Haley?" Jace asked.

"Di-didn't you guys hear it too? There was like a growling sound."

There was a moment of silence.

"Haley, are you sure you heard something?" Ingrid asked worried.

"I'm sure of it. I'm gonna go see what it is."

"We agreed not to split up!" Jace spat.

"We never agreed to anything!" I pointed out as I left the group.

"She's right, you know," Ingrid explained.

"Shut up!" Jace screamed.

All of a sudden, I heard the slap of a hand. Ingrid's scream proceeded to pierce through the forest. I froze dead in my tracks. 

"Jace? Ingrid?"

"Yeah?" they both said.  
"A-are you guys alright?"

There was a moment of silence. 

"Well, yeah," Ingrid explained.   
"Why wouldn't we be?”

I shook my head.


	6. Don't Look Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: Nightmares, monsters, read at your own discretion.

It was midnight. The leaves crackled under her feet and made her jump. All she had was her flashlight and the clothes on her back. What she was doing out here by an abandoned sawmill she didn't know. But she knew what was coming.

Ever after experiencing this type of scenario so many times, she still worried of who was to come; or what was to come.

The snap of a twig behind made her stop in her tracks. She didn't look back, though. She knew that one shouldn't look back when their life is in danger. Even a turn behind the shoulders would trigger the creature's murderous side.

"Just stand still and look forward," she had been told.

"They don't strike until you turn around or twitch. Just stand still and don't look back."

She could hear the creature's booming footsteps coming closer and closer. 

"Advice, don't fail me now," she prayed.

She could feel its warm, steamy breath upon her neck. As if by instinct, her eyes snapped shut. She heard its disappointed groan, as it had been unsuccessful in getting her to face it. The stomps soon decreased to quiet footsteps. 

She breathed a sigh and looked back. That instant she felt its sharp claws upon her face. It pierced the skin and she felt a trickle flow off of her face. The last thing that she saw was its claw, soaked in red, before it dug into her eye. 

* * *

Leah shot out of bed in a cold sweat, trembling. Her hands immediately went to her face. No scars or blood. She sighed in relief and glanced at her alarm clock.

"Well, that's a new record. Half-past four. Forty-five minutes later than usual," she said to herself.

Not uncommon for her, though. Leah had had the same dream ever since she could remember. The only thing that was different was the location. Sometimes it was in common places for a nightmare, such as a dark forest. Other times it was places like a circus or an abandoned sawmill. But it always ended the same way; with the creature's claws piercing her eyes.

Something scratched at her door, making her jump and tremble. Next came mournful meows and she relaxed. Opening the door, she found her black cat Jackaby. 

"Must've escaped the room, somehow," she yawned,  
"Well, there's no use going back to sleep. Let's get dressed."

* * *

"Hi, Leah."

She shrieked in surprise.

"Kennedy, I told you not to sneak up behind me!" Leah exclaimed,  
"Great Scott, you could've scared me to death."

Leah and Kennedy had been best friends since the sixth grade. They were the embodiment of the phrase "Opposites attract." Leah had blonde hair, was mainly a daydreamer, and was into any subject that was creative or expressive, such as theatre and English. Kennedy, on the other hair, was a brunette who wasn't one for fantasy. She was more into subjects that dealt with numbers and formulas, such as science, and described as a female Puck. She was very mischievous and fun, whereas Leah was a bit more cautious. They balanced each other perfectly.

"Had the dream again?" Kennedy asked.

Leah nodded, shaking like crazy.

"Wow. I thought that you would've gone insane by now. I know that I would've."

"Me? Insane?" Leah chuckled nervously,  
"I'm perfectly fine."

"But are you sure that you shouldn't tell someone else about this? Someone like a teacher or a psychologist?"

"It's like I said. I'm fine."

A bell rang and Leah jumped.

"What was that?" she exclaimed hiding behind Kennedy.

"That was the most horrific creature of them all. The warning bell," Kennedy said sarcastically.

"Oh yeah. I knew that."

* * *

Leah twitched as her bus halted at her stop. She hurried off of the bus and it sped away. She walked at a normal pace until she heard the snap of a twig. She stood as still as stone.

"Don't look back. Don't look back," Leah kept telling herself. 

After a few moments, there was nothing more to be heard. Leah continued to walk, but much more slowly. Another twig snapped and she stiffened. Then there was nothing once again. Leah resumed her walk, but was cautious about moving any faster than a snail. Little by little, she began to relax. Soon she heard a roar behind her. 

Leah didn't care if it would attack her if she made a sudden move. She ran like heck up to the front door, slamming it shut as she flew in. Leah sneaked over to the blinds and saw the mail truck by her mail box. 

"So that was what made the roar," she laughed in relief as she stared out the window.

"Leah?"

She turned and jumped. Leah was so absorbed in the mail truck that she hadn't heard her mother come in.

"Oh! Hi, mom," she stuttered.

"Are you alright, Leah? You've been awfully jumpy for a long while."

"I'm fine," Leah lied with a nervous chuckle.

Her mother stroked her chin in thought.

"This doesn't have something to do with the monsters you made up, does it?"

Leah shook her head. Convinced, her mother left Leah to her own devices.

"But that's just it. It has _everything_ to do with them," Leah sighed as she unpacked her homework.

"Okay, onto geography," Leah groaned.  
"'Draw landmarks and buildings to show where your neighborhood is located. Be sure to include labels and the distance that your neighborhood is from each landmark or building.'"

She whipped out a pencil and drew what she knew of her neighborhood. 

"Let's see. My neighborhood is by a park with an old, creaky dock. I think it's called Fisher's Peak. Oh, and then there's a coffee shop."

She kept up like this for a while. Finally she was done.

"There! I hope that it's worth burning out six pencils for an A."

She observed her artwork with pride. She hadn't left out a single detail. There was the park, the coffee shop, the abandoned saw mill---

"Wait a second," she whispered.

Leah considered the abandoned saw mill to be the best building that she drew. It looked exactly like the one by her neighborhood. But that wasn't what made Leah wonder.

"Where else have I seen this mill before?"

Images flashed through her mind. The dark night, the saw mill, the creature's claws. They were all from her dream last night.

* * *

"This can't be real!" Leah exclaimed to Kennedy over her phone.

Unsure of whether her theory of the saw mill's existence was correct or not, Leah had asked her mother to drive her to the abandoned saw mill. Unfortunately Leah had been right. The saw mill was real. And it was exactly how she had seen it in her dream.

_ "Calm down, Leah. I'm sure that there's a logical explanation. Maybe it's just a coincidence." _

"Yeah. A lot of things are thought to be coincidences. Turns out they almost never are."

_ "Maybe you should tell someone about this. Like an adult." _

"No way! My parents would just send me to a psychiatrist. No one would believe me. Not in a million years."

_ "That's because the creatures aren't real." _

"But that's the thing. They _are_ real."

_"Imagination is a powerful thing, Leah,"_ Kennedy continued as if Leah hasn't said a word.  
_ "You can't let your imagination take over. It could cross over into reality and who knows where we'd be by then?" _

"Well, I'd be dead, for one thing."

_ "Just tell yourself that they aren't real and relax." _

With that Kennedy hung up. Leah curled up in a ball on her bed. She felt alone in the world. No one would believe her. Not even her own best friend. She knew that the monsters were real. She had seen them before they began torturing her dreams.

* * *

It all started when she was only four. Leah was ostracized by other kids because of her interests. She didn't have any passion for dresses or princesses. She was an artist. All of her childhood was spent with coloring books of Picasso pictures and Van Gogh "Paint-By-Numbers" sets. Those who used this reason to tease her, she figured, were just jealous. Leah also developed an interest in witchcraft and the paranormal; the main cause of her bullying. 

On one particular day, Leah was making a sand castle--more like a sand Sistine chapel--when a group of kindergarten girls came up to her.

"Hi, Leah," one of them said in feigned kindness.  
"Wanna play with us?"

Leah gave this some consideration. No one had asked her to play with them before and, being only four, she hadn't discovered what bullying was like yet.

"Sure, I guess."

After that things went downhill for her. The girls had set up a game called "Castle Rescue" with the boys to make Leah feel out of place. The girls were the princesses, the boys were the knights in shining armor, one girl was the evil witch, and one boy was the evil king. 

The rules were that the knights had to free the princesses from the castle, which was the playground, before they were tagged by the king or witch. The only thing that the princesses could do was call for help. Once a knight made it across with a princess, the princess had to swear her unwavering obedience and loyalty to her rescuer, along with giving him a kiss.

"No! No, you're doing it wrong, Leah," whined one girl named Kayla, the girl whose asked Leah to play. Leah was halfway down a ladder, trying to push away a boy named Bobby, one of the knights.

"You're supposed to call for help and let Bobby rescue you," Kayla continued.

"But there's a way for us to escape. Why wait for someone else? Why not just save ourselves?" Leah shrugged.

"Because," Kayla spat in her face.  
"Princesses aren't supposed to escape. They are supposed to wait for a knight in shining armor to rescue them. They aren't supposed to save themselves. They are supposed to be saved! Now, once again. From the top!"

* * *

Throughout the rest of the game, Leah just stood atop a slide, calling for help in the most emotionless tone possible. Finally one of the knights, Jack, guided her from the castle. For a while, he just stared at her. It looked like he was expecting something.

"What do you want?" Leah asked Jack.

"No, no, no!" Kayla screeched as she stomped towards Leah, her brown hair blowing behind her.  
"You're supposed to get on your knees, pledge your obedience to him, and kiss him!" 

"Why should I?"

"Because he just rescued you from the evil castle."

Leah looked at where she had been rescued from.

"Looks more like a playground to me," she shrugged.

"Listen, ugly. If you want people to like you, then you have to respect them and do what they say. And by 'they,' I mean me. Now get on your knees!"

Leah just stood there.

"What are you doing? I said get down on your knees, you idiot!"

Leah shook her head. 

"No one tells Kayla no. You're gonna be sorry!"

Kayla's hands pushed on Leah, knocking her to the blacktop. A group of classmates began to point and laugh. Leah tried to get up only to have Kayla push her back down. Kayla hovered above Leah.

"If you're gonna be my friend, then we play my way. You should be thanking me. I don't usually ask ugly girls to play with me."

That blew Leah's fuse. She got up to fight when suddenly--

"A monster!" the girls screamed, running from the scene.

Indeed it was a monster. A black, moving, snaky silhouette. How Leah conjured it she didn't know. More and more emerged from thin air, ready to defend Leah.

"You take it back, you ugly son of a witch!" she yelled at Kayla. 

Kayla shrieked as the monsters chased her around the blacktop.


	7. The Day the Mind Died

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They said if you weren't born with it, you couldn't get it. They were wrong.
> 
> It's 2134 and since the Voltune War, creativity and imagination are now a rarity. Those who are born with extensively creative minds are valued highly in society or shunned if they misuse their talent. Or worse. 
> 
> Matilda is about to be an eleven and must take a test to determine her job in society. She doesn't consider herself to be a highly creative person or even close to one. When her test shows up beyond positive for creativity, she refuses to structure it. Now with the help of Graham, a twelve boy whose creativity has turned to the dark side, and Hyman, a creative sixteen genius who went mad after structuring it, Matilda goes on the run in order to find out why creativity is treated so highly as well as why her results came up so high.

Day 1:

They say that eleven is the most important number; it's when everything changes. People stop asking you for curfew passes after 6 pm when you need to meet a friend to study for school. You get money to spend on yourself. You become eligible to be matched by the Council. And you can choose when and if you attend school. But most important is the career battery. 

I twirl my pencil in my hand as I sit through my General Career class. The gray dress I wear, signifying I'm still a minor, is too scratchy. Even though I become an eleven tonight, the impatience I feel is too intense. 

Eleven. The number flashes in my mind. Within that number are many words and phrases; new clothes, optional schooling, careers. I focus on careers. What could I be? Usually it's limited to the careers the parents got. My father is a textbook editor and my mom is a stay-home. From experience I know I could never spend hour upon hour nitpicking the errors the writers missed nor could I manage a house during the day. 

"Matilda?" 

A voice from the front of the room snaps me from my thoughts. Teacher Korbain gives off a hardened expression of frustration and expectation. 

"Sorry, sir," I mutter under my breath. 

I picture him sitting at his desk after school as he grades the work I turned in late again.

"Every time," he sighs as he tries to read my handwriting, which would be mistaken for a two's if he didn't know it was mine.  
"Every single time. It's always late."

I wonder if procrastinator is a job option. 

The bell rings and I gather my supplies when Teacher Korbain calls me to stay after for a few minutes. The other tens snicker as they walk out of the classroom. I feel a violent push on my back; my supplies leaps from my arms as I fumble. 

"Oops. Was that me?" a voice asks innocently yet with a very strong hint of knowing. 

I look to see Mariah, another ten, grinning at me in a vile manner. 

"Have fun with Korbain, Dazey," she whispers as she and her posse strut out. 

Dazey. The name makes my self-esteem shake. 

"It's not my fault I space out in class," I think as I pick up my supplies. 

I walk to Korbain's desk. He's a recent-hire, but knows his expectations. People always tell me that if you do what he wants without question and you're alert, you won't get on his bad side and you won't get on the board's bad side either.

That's what makes me scared. 

He pulls out a file with the name Matilda in bold, black marker on the front. Attached is my school picture when I was a five. Pigtails, I think, were not the best choice. Neither were braces. 

A few moments of silence pass between us. This only gives the fear an opportunity to build inside of me. Then suddenly he passes the file my way and gestures for me to open it. I do so and inside are my grades from every class I've taken. 

"Your grades in General Career are not up to par with the curriculum," he says matter-of-factly.   
"In fact most of your grades are less than ideal. Action must be taken to be sure the average stays high."

I shiver. Am I going to be a hold-back? Stories of past hold-backs flood my mind. Kids who failed every single class and then were never seen again.


	8. The Cover Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: Christianity, Satan, cult shit.

I have something to tell you; many things, actually. Yes, you; you and the person sitting next to you. I can't hide it all any longer. I must tell someone or I feel like I will go mad.

At a first glance, you wouldn't even be able to tell. Of course you wouldn't. What kind of deep secrets could a sweet, high-class, sixteen year old girl have? Oh, you don't even know. You don't even know what secrets I've kept; you don't know the secrets that I still have. And to start with, I'm not actually sixteen.

I mean, I was sixteen, but that was two hundred years ago. My name is Carolyn Jones. I should be buried in a graveyard. Where's my body? Probably rotting in their lair somewhere; I can almost the taste the decaying flesh from my cage. They claim that they have good intentions for what they do. Good intentions, my ass! Who's they? The Alaskan Glaciers; they are the main cult of Satan. Yes, you heard me right. Satan, the evil wizard who runs the fiery pits of hell, has a cult called the Alaskan Glaciers. Quite a paradox, if you ask me. I'm surprised the cult hasn't melted away, so to speak.

Why am I here, you may ask? It's because of my mother. She was infected with tuberculosis when she was giving birth to me. Her immune system was so weak that it would take a miracle to cure her. And so, like a good neighbor, Satan was there with a proposition. Take that, State Farm!

His proposition was that he could cure my mother and he promised that a healthy and beautiful baby girl would be born. The only condition was that she would have to be given to one of his cults when she turned sixteen. And so my mother agreed to the deal. Hey, it was either that or we'd both die.

So then, I was born and my mother named me Carolyn. Because even after being visited by the devil, the strict Christian bloodline was still pure in the Jones family. I grew up pretty normally. As normal as living in a Christian family who was visited by the devil could get. I went to a Christian school. I behaved as much as I could, with minor behavior troubles. I said my prayers each night. And somehow the story got out to the rest of my Christian classmates that our family had been visited by the devil. And I was met with....mixed responses.

Some of them just thought it was a hoax and left me alone. Others didn't hear about any of it and just thought of me as a normal person. And then there were those that....let's just say they completely despised me and tried to exorcise me. So pretty casual behavior. 


	9. Squad 101: Larknapped: Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A month into her new arts-centered boarding school, Lydia begins to notice that some of the choir singers have disappeared. The school is growing in paranoia as everyone wonders where they've gone and who's next. With the help of her friends Trish, Bianca, and Kayla, Lydia must dig deep into secrets that may risk her freedom.

_"Dear dad,"_ I write in my email on my new laptop.  
_ "It's been exactly one month since you sent me to the New York Arts Center. I really like it here. My classes are awesome and I've made some friends. First there's Trish." _

I look over to find Trish on her iPod as usual and reading what looks to be a science magazine.

_ "She's really nice and super smart. She helped me survive the former prima donna of the advanced choir. Then I met Bianca." _

I look over to find Bianca on her portable DVD player watching her favorite guilty pleasure show; The Bachelorette.

_ "She may look tough, but once you get to know her, she's really caring as well as really fun to kick back with. And finally I met Kayla." _

As if by cue, the door opens and in comes Kayla, the former prima donna of the NYAC Advanced Choir.

_ "At first we didn't get along so well, but now we've learned to see eye to eye a bit. She's actually really sweet once you get to know her and she's a really good singer. Now that I've been here for a while, I'm actually kind of glad you sent me here. I've gotten a new look---" _

I pause for a minute, reading it over. Then I shake my head as I backspace that last sentence.

"Hey. How else can you tell your dad you've gotten a new look without freaking him out?"

"Why?" Bianca asks pausing her show.  
"Your dad's that tough about fashion?"

"No. I just think he might freak if I just said I got a new look. He might think I turned goth or something."

"That might not be a bad thing. You'd be like that chick from _Beetlejuice._ "

"Beetlejuice?"

Bianca nods.

"Beetle--"

"Why not just tell him you got some new clothes?" Kayla interrupts as she flops down on the bed beside me, much to Bianca's chagrin.

"That could still be interpreted the wrong way," I answer.  
"I want to tell him, but I don't want him to have a heart attack."

"Then just don't tell him," Bianca suggests.

"Is the thought of you wearing jeans really that bad for him?"

"Kinda. He still thinks I wear dresses and hair bows and play tea party with my stuffed animals."

"That's a dad for ya," Trish joins in, plucking her ear buds out.  
"Always think you're his little girl, no matter your age."

"Tell me about it," Kayla groans.  
"My dad thought I would cry the first time he dropped me off here. But it actually turned out to be him crying because he found a pic of me as a four year old on his phone when we got to the drop off area at the airport. He even sent it to me."

"Do you still have it?"

"Maybe," she says suspiciously.

"Let's see it," Bianca says.

"I don't even have my phone with me."

Behind her I see Trish reaching into Kayla's back pocket and pulling out her phone. 

"Is this it?" Trish asks.

Whirling around, Kayla shrieks.

"Give that back!"

"Heads up, Bianca!" Trish exclaims as she throws the phone to Bianca.  
"Lydia, hold her back."

"I don't want any part in this," I exclaim.

"Get my phone back, Lydia!" Kayla screams as she struggles against Trish's grip.

Bianca's already scrolling through her pictures when she stops. She pokes the screen and tries to hold back a chortle.

"What?" I ask.

"Lydia, come look at this."

I rush over and can't help but smile. In the picture is a four year old girl in a frilly pink dress. Her hair is super curly and decorated with what must be all of the world's most girly hair bows. On her feet are bright pink high heels that are way too big for her feet. On her face is what looks to be a ton of makeup, probably her attempt as a small child. Red blush highlights her cheek bones way too much and her lips are beyond red. On her hands are pure white, silk gloves and she holds a small, plastic, pink purse in both.

"Aww! Kayla, you look adorable," I smile.

"Let me see," Trish exclaims. 

I come over and show her the photo.

"What an adorable little doll-child!" She laughs.

"You look ready for a tea party," I coo.

"On the Island of Misfit Toys," Bianca joins in.

"Yeah. Yeah. I look stupid. I know," she grumbles. 

"The Next Shirley Temple," Trish fawns.  
"What a delight! You remember that song, right guys?"

"Oh, you mean the one about the animal crackers?" Bianca asks.

"I do."

The three of us crowd around Kayla and sing:

_ "Animal crackers in my soup. _

_ Monkeys and rabbits loop da loop." _

By the end of the song, we're dying of laughter. Kayla rolls her eyes and sighs.

"Go on. Laugh it up," she says sarcastically.  
"Someday I'll get ahold of one of your childhood pictures. Then we'll see who's the one laughing."

"Probably will still be us," Bianca says. 


	10. The Chronos Series: Lost in Infinity: Chapter 1:

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: Fetish mention.

I open my eyes to pure whiteness. I look around. No one is in sight. The last thing I remember is that I was on a walk with my friend, Tessa, when I saw a chrome glow from my neck. I suddenly blacked out and now...Whiteness as far as the eye can see and beyond. What if I've lost all of my memory except my walk with Tessa? I decide to list the facts about myself that pop into my head, just to be sure it wasn't a memory wipe.

"My name is Minette Rockwell-Jones. I am fifteen years old as of July. I am five foot two and I live near the Majestic Theatre in New York. My mother's side of the family is French. My mother's name is Josette Gusteau. My stepfather is from somewhere in California. His name is Kevin. My biological father divorced. He never mentioned where his family came from. His name is Kallen.

"My best friend's name is Tessa Morneau. I love to dance and I want to dance as Clara in 'The Nutcracker' for the Russian Ballet someday, but I'm too short. I have seen my favorite movie 'Edward Scissorhands' countless times. I have seen 'The Nutcracker' countless times. I love singing and writing as well as acting." 

That's all I can list. I look down at my neck. A necklace with a transparent jewel resides on my neck.

"Oh yeah. I've had this thing on me since I was three or four. Why? I don't know. I suppose someone in my family had a time fetish."

"Minette," a voice calls out, resonating.

Deep, gentle, and soothing, it alarms me how calm it actually is. 

"Good God," I gasp in fright.

"Please. Don't be afraid of me. I'm a friend."

I whirl around---wherever the hell I am---trying to pinpoint where this voice is coming from.

"Oh, Minette, my sweet," it chuckles.  
"There's no sense in trying to look for me. For I am everywhere and nowhere."


	11. Trees Have Feelings Too

I've had a bad feeling about trees ever since I could remember. I know it's strange. I was told that too many times to forget it. It's just that they seemed incredibly creepy, especially in the fall. How they grew and died all on their own scared me all to hell. And the crazy thing was it was only in trees that scared me. For that reason alone, I stopped trick or treating when I was about eight. For that reason alone, I stay away from the living room during Christmas time. For that reason alone, I am how I am today.

So it was a few years ago on Halloween night when it happened. My mom was always trying to get me to go out trick or treating with my little sister Cameron. And I'd always use the same excuse; homework. 

And it worked for about eight years. But that night, I guess that my mom caught on. When I came home from school on Friday, I locked myself in my room and tried to do my homework, which actually wasn't that much. 

Later that evening, she came into my room and thrusted a witch costume in my face. It had a little hat, broom, and everything. It was so adorable, but that could only mean one thing.

"Mom, I told you already. I can't go trick or treating tonight. I have a lot of homework to do," I lied.

"Nonsense," she scoffed.  
"Cameron has missed every Halloween because of your supposed homework problem, Bailey. Tonight you're going to give her the childhood that both of you never had."

"But I have a huge project due tomorrow!"

"Then you should've gotten it done last night."

She was dodging every excuse in my book. I had to think up something fast.

"Well, sixteen's way too old for trick or treating. And anyway I did go trick or treating--"

"--Eight years ago. You need at least ten years of trick or treating. That's the family rule. Now don't come out of your room until your costume's on."

And with that, she slammed the door behind her.

"Great," I shivered.  
"My mom wants me to die. She knows that those trees are going to do something to me. And I know it too."

But what could I do? I had no way out of this.

"Well, time to write my will then."

* * *

Two hours later, I inched my way downstairs. My broom was in one hand and a pillowcase in the other. My mom squealed with delight as I came down. Cameron, who was dressed as a black cat, began jumping around. 

"Oh, sweetie! You look adorable," my mom beamed.

I looked in the mirror over the console. My long, ginger-blonde hair was in a mess as always. My face was covered in the witch makeup that my mom had provided so that I could be murdered while looking the part. My cheekbones were positioned so awkwardly that I looked like a chipmunk in a teenager's body. Not to mention my storm of freckles. 

"You look like a skank," Cameron laughed.

"Now now, Cameron. Be nice to your sister," my mom scolded.

"No she's right, mom. I do look like a sl--"

"--Let's get a picture of you two on the front stoop," my mom intervened knowing very well what I was about to say.

Now that I think back on it, I'm starting to believe that my mom never got to trick or treat when she was younger and was trying to live the experience through Cameron and I.

She herded us onto the steps like sheep and proceeded to get every angle of our bodies that the camera could process. I prayed it would be over soon.

"Okay you two. Have fun!" she grinned after ten minutes of pictures.

She pushed us out the door and I heard the click of the lock behind us. 

"Come on, sis!" Cameron squealed pulling my shivering body along.

* * *

Because I felt completely petrified, we only managed to hit about twenty houses in an hour. 

"Come on! Move faster," Cameron kept urging me. 

But I couldn't. I was too scared. Everywhere I turned, the demons of nature kept casting the shadows of their branches. I heard hissing and voices each time we passed one by; voices that whispered:

_"Join us, Bailey. Become our queen."_

"This is stupid," Cameron scoffed.  
"I'm gonna go off on my own for a while. When you're ready to keep pace with me, call me on my cell and I'll let you know where I am."

She skipped off. I knew she wasn't supposed to go off by herself, but I was too paralyzed to stop her. After I stood there for about five minutes, I decided I couldn't go on. I took out my cell and called my best friend Alex.

"Hey. Can I chill at your place for the night please? Mom'll be all over my ass if I went back home now."

She was the only one who knew and understood my fear.

 _"Trees?"_ she scoffed.

"Trees," I answered.

 _"Get over here then,"_ she chuckled.   
_"I'll have the Hitchcock films set."_

"Thanks," I said as I hung up.

There were only two ways to Alex's house; the regular way had been blocked off for Halloween. The other way was, unfortunately, through a forest. 

_Good thing I wrote out my will beforehand._


	12. Grandfather Clock, I guess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know anymore.

"Hello," the grandfather clock greeted.

I took a step back in shock. The anxiety medication must've done more than I thought it would.

"Um, did you just talk?" I asked the clock hesitantly.

"I did indeed. Why does that surprise you so?"

"Because clocks can't talk."

"Is that so?" a female voice piped up.

I whirled around to find the lit candle I had brought down with me now had a mouth and two eyes with long and thin eyelashes. 

"Then how do you explain me talking?"

"I-I don't know," I trembled.

"Of course you don't."

I turned back to the grandfather clock and gasped to find a handsome, young man in his place. The brass buckles of his black coat looked very similar to the hands of a clock.

"You've only just arrived, Luna."

"How do you know my name?" I shivered.

"My dear, we know so much about you. The master has talked about you at length."

"Sometimes we couldn't get him to shut up about you," the velveteen rabbit scoffed.

I stood frozen in fear and awe as much of the furniture came to life and transformed into people. They were all dressed in very fancy, but very outdated, clothing.

"So, you're all....alive?" I gasped.

"Indeed we are," said the candle who had transformed into a beautiful, curveless woman with fire-gold hair and a silky, shiny, wax-white dress.

"Is it just...the living room that's...."

"Ginny, quit spilling yourself!" a woman called out from the kitchen.

I rushed over to find a little girl in a golden-brown dress. There was liquid spilling from the top of her head.

"But mum, I'm so tired of sitting inside of that cold prison."

"That's Mister Cold Prison to you, young lady," said a man in a reflective white suit and face makeup.

Did I take any other drugs aside from the anxiety medication? Even the doors were beginning to come to life.

"Oh, let her run free, Refer," one of them said.   
"You know this is the only time we get to be free."

"Hey. Is it gettin' hot in here or is it just me?" asked a man who now stood where the oven was.

"Yeah, hot with the urge to party," Ginny replied.

All of a sudden, everyone snapped their...fingers? and the manor began to shift. The ceiling rose up and the floor slithered out from under me as it began to expand.


	13. Pry Eyes

I feel a warm flush on my back again. My head jerks up from my desk as the teacher whirls around to flash her eyes at me.

"Lolly?" she spits.  
"Did you fall asleep again?"

I hear snickers around me and I turn red. I somehow have a habit of dozing off in class now. 

"No? Uh, yes?" I sputter.

That only triggers more snickering. 

"And my name's not Lolly. It's Lyllo. Like Lily, but with an O at the end."

The teacher sniffs her nose at me. 

"See me after class, Lolly."

I groan in frustration and slump back in my seat as I try to copy down the Calc problems she's writing on the board. But all the while I can barely concentrate. All I can focus on is the mark on my back. Maybe it's in my head. Maybe it's not. But I feel like a pair of eyes literally burnt themselves into the back of my skull. 

* * *

Finally the bell rings and I attempt to dash out of class. But what's waiting for me is far more terrifying than a teacher's lecture on a Friday.

"Where do you think you're going, Loony?" whines tenth-grader Inisa Krowley as she blocks my path. 

While small, Inisa is strong. Way too strong for a tenth-grader. And somehow she's decided that I'm a good target for her. 

"Look. I don't want any trouble," I say.


	14. Listening to People Story Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So we had to do this for Intro to Creative Writing back in the fall. These were the things I heard that I wrote down:
> 
> “Well, I’m sorry I sat on your head.”
> 
> “I have red lipstick on.”  
> “Yeah.”  
> “I’m gonna look like trash.”
> 
> “Once the egg’s out of my mouth, it’s no longer my problem.”

“Well, I’m sorry I sat on your head.”

“It’s a little late for that,” Humpty Dumpty grumbled as I tried to help put him back together.

“How did you even end up under me in the first place?” I wondered.

“I fell off a wall, duh. You just happened to come along and sit where my head was.”

I tried to find each piece of his head, but I realized that even with all of us here, I doubt we could put him back together, at least so quickly.

“We’re gonna have to take you back to the castle,” I sighed.  
“It’s gonna take some reconstructive surgery to fix this.”

“Son of a bi—!”

He was cut off as I threw him and the broken pieces into my bag. 

“To the castle, boys!” I ordered.


	15. Character Sketch and Monologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Name: Avina Bercaldi
> 
> Gender: Female
> 
> Age: 17
> 
> Birthday: December 22nd
> 
> Circumstances: Result of a backfired spell. Mother was in battle, was hit with a death spell, which caused Avina to be born instantaneously. Her mother died on the spot.
> 
> Close to death?: As a newborn, cursed with a spell that was supposed to kill her, but instead ends up giving her the power to resurrect/kill whatever she touches, they call it the fire thumb.
> 
> Accused of something they didn’t do: Treason and murder in another city. Nearly was executed for it.
> 
> Desires: To be normal, to get rid of the fire thumb, to be able to hug her dad. 
> 
> Strengths: Cunning, resourcefulness, charisma, go-with-the-flow, abstract connections, 
> 
> Weaknesses: Emotional intelligence, self-deprecating, impulsive, easily confused.
> 
> Place of Birth: In the middle of the desert.

*as she’s pitching a tent.* Look, I know I’ve got a habit of self-deprecating, but I’m not kidding. My birth was a freak accident. See, my mom was a famous warrior, she had a duel with a witch. My dad kept telling her “Emsie, don’t go to this. It’s not good for the baby.” But my mother refused to swallow her pride and just walked into the middle of the desert nine months pregnant like it was nothing. In the middle of the duel, she got hit with a death spell, I popped out, she died on the spot. Well then that witch fired one at me, but another freak accident happened. It didn’t kill me. It all went into this thumb. *shows thumb.* And a lot of blood has gathered there, which is why it’s so red. They call it the fire thumb. It kills anyone and anything it touches. Means touching anything that lives is out of the question.

So it was pretty much just me, my dad, and my older sister Alaina. Lived in a sort of shack just outside of the town. Couldn’t really afford schooling, so my sister trained me to steal things, with the promise of educating me. The evil bitch had learned a thing or two herself. She had this bell that she’d ring every time she’d make me steal something or do something for her. My brain caught on and it became a reflex. Bell rings and I was basically her servant until the task was done.

When I was 16, I took her to the kingdom over and knocked her unconscious in an alleyway. Stole that damned bell and threw it as far as I could. Well, it just so happened to hit the queen of that kingdom. I was caught and accused of both treason and murder. Nearly got the guillotine, but I ended up thumbing the executioner when he came to get me. Been on the run ever since. Truth be told, still dunno how accidentally hitting a queen with a bell counts as treason.

On the upside, it can also resurrect things that died on their own. When I wasn’t my sister’s little slave, I made some cash from rich kids and favors from my fellow poor kids resurrecting dead pets. Even resurrected the princess’s dead pup one time after it got bludgeoned by an assassin on accident. Got paid pretty handsomely and hid it all from Alaina. Speaking of, I dunno where that bitch is anymore.


	16. Character Profile: Farmer Nova from the Planet Canzyria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another Intro to Creative Writing exercise.

**Most Memorable Birthday:** Her most memorable birthday was hen she was attacked by the Ophril from the Planet Lamelea and managed to use her electro-pitch to get in several consecutive double kills. She was turning 16.

**Family Life or Something:** She thinks it could’ve gone better, she misses her home planet Canzyria where her parents live. It’s difficult to visit them, so she only goes once a year. 

**Retirement Plans:** Retirement? She doesn’t really plan on retiring.

**Favorite Holiday:** Halloween is fun, but dangerous to her, as that’s when the Scrax and the Ruvir invade earth. But she loves using it as a chance to show off her gadgets because she can claim it’s just part of her costume. 

**How They Get Their Clothes:** Nova uses the Holo Mall app on her phone to order new clothes, as it’s difficult to actually go to the stores in Canzyria or anywhere else to buy them, and earth doesn’t have the material needed to help her survive. 

**Favorite Food:** Canzyrian Frost Pie. It’s a velvet pie base, filled with Canzyrian chocolate, which is extremely sweet and accessible only to the top farmers on the planet, Aizuno jelly, which tastes like whatever the consumer most desires, in her case it’s heraberries which are tangy, but sweet berries with an intense flavor, whipped fluff from Bracicarrio, and topped with a glaze from the planet Hectotropia, which gives it a minty/frosty taste. She’s only able to get it on her birthdays. 

**The farm at dawn:** Dark. 

**W hen your young child has died:** she doesn’t have a kid, she’s 21. 

**Strengths:** Charismatic, romantic, a strong fighter, rugged but attractive

**Downfalls:** She can get a bit cocky and likes to showoff, extremely stubborn


	17. The Gym Teacher Guardian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another Intro to Creative Writing Exercise.

I’ve been keeping an eye on these kids for two weeks now. They don’t know what lies ahead for them. All they think this involves is playing sports, but that’s only a cover. In reality, this is a training ground for them. The council sent _me_ to train them and their mutant powers. And yet, I find myself wishing to simply let them go, be normal kids, do whatever normal kids do, but they’re not normal, just as I was never a normal kid, and I have a stun gun in my pocket to make me remember that. 

However I find myself constantly wondering: is it humane to keep them locked up here, in the 51st area? It’s so heavily guarded. These kids no of nothing else—nowhere else---except for this place. And I was once like them, only to have escaped the area myself after I overheard my coach talking about life on the outside. I’m not sure why I can’t just tell them the escape route I used. Perhaps it was my powers that helped me get past the guards. What are my powers, you may ask? Communicating with squirrels, and making spinach puffs.

My name is Kronk. I am a Galactic Coach sent from Jupiter to train mutant children in the art of surviving and saving humanity, and this is my story.


	18. Cecilia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just wrote this on a whim back in the fall.

Cecilia couldn't stand the cold.

The window of September was quickly closing, and soon a colder window would shoot open. But what made it worse was that it was nighttime.

It was only the temperature made worse by the night. Otherwise Cecilia didn't mind. The nights were......quiet, as if the country itself was trying to recollect its thoughts in solitude. So in spite of the temperature, there she stood in the dead of night on her college campus.

The school board had strongly advised staying indoors at night, for there were rumors that a mad murderer was on the loose on campus. Though the strange thing was that there hadn't been any actual reports of murder taking place. Either this criminal was very skilled at disposing of the evidence, or there was no murderer to begin with.

In any case, Cecilia didn't mind being outside. Murderer or no murderer, nighttime was a thousand times better than the daytime, especially with Halloween being around the corner.

The apartment where she was living was only about a ten-minute walk from campus. Might as well get the exercise. It was a decision that she regretted almost instantly.

"Oh man," she groaned as she cut through the cold nighttime breeze.  
"Maybe I should've taken a cab instead."

The atmosphere reminded her of a horror novel she had been writing where a shadow begins stalking a college girl and takes her captive. The environment was exactly like what she was experiencing, oddly enough.

Come to think of it, Cecilia DID feel as though she was being watched. Perhaps it was just the ambience......or was it something more?


	19. The Fascinating Bloodlust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (CW: Arousal mention, bloodlust, macabre experimentation)

It was not like any other day. At least none that I knew of. When I had inspected the house, it had been sunny and warm. When I had moved into the manor, it was dark and cold. I had been given a caveat against rats, spiders, and the occasional settling floorboard by various others. As the history of this manor was impossibly arcane, not a single person had bothered to mention that the manor was set to drive me from it. Or drive me mad. I now believe that the neighbors kept quiet in order to keep me from having any second thoughts.

The price was low-tariff, costing me roughly twenty thousand pounds. I should’ve noticed it as a red flag, but as I was a freshman in university, I didn't pay much mind to it, as long as the price stayed within my budget. How naive I was.

It was an old manor belonging to the Victorian Era. As I parked my car by the roadside, I marveled at just how elegant it was. It was an eloquent story incarnate, the history of the previous owners waiting to be discovered by someone with intense strength and unwavering courage. I always thought of myself as extremely brave. Looking back on it, I mistook idealism and naivety for bravery and grit. 

The foyer possessed a high ceiling and a dusty chandelier. The walls were a pine green with a coating of dusty grey. There were two steep staircases leading to the upper balcony; one to each side of me. They creaked as I climbed them. The smell of rusty iron and salt twisted my nostrils. What sort of substance would cause such a stench I didn't know. I had been informed that one of the previous owners was a chemist gone mad. I reasoned with myself that perhaps their experiment had left a lingering stench. I deemed it safe as I brought my lonely suitcase up to the master bedroom-currently unbelievably tiny-as they wouldn’t have sold it to me, had it been toxic to inhale. 

That afternoon, I took to the library. Books of all kinds, each left by the owners, stocked a set of shelves. I found it odd that many of them were journals of sorts; literary, academic, scientific, and personal. One in particular caught my eye. On the cover, scratched in red, were the words GET OUT. Once again, I disregarded this as a mere mistake, as they wouldn't have sold it, lest someone risk losing their life. I went on with my exploration and looked inside of the journal. 

It came to me that this was a personal journal, yet the owner detailed such gruesome scientific exploits that seemed far too macabre to be legitimate. One entailed of drawing blood from the victim. They would then have their head cut open and their own blood poured into their brain. It was said the scientist desired to increase awareness in the hope they would attain access to the other dimensions and states of awareness. Another detailed rearranging body parts, such as the intestines and the kidney. A third entailed the removal of the victim's brain and have it be divided and rearranged. Sometimes, the man would switch certain pieces of their own mind out and replace it with the mind parts of certain animals. Other times the whole brain would be removed and then have the bits of other human minds stitched into it. Another was to take the brain out and inject the victim with various mind-altering drugs to discover just what would take effect were their no mind to alter. 

The man seemed to favor the exploitation of humans and livestock. As I was a vegetarian, I found such experiments to be repulsive and sickening. Yet these entries were the written equivalent of roadkill; I could not turn away no matter how strong my desire was to do so. Such morbid and sickening details were so....fascinating, even slightly arousing. Was I developing a lust for blood?

No. I shook my head and kept reading into the night. The ticking of the grandfather clock was the only enemy of my awareness at that moment. Right above me as I sat at the desk, the pendulum swung back and forth in such a rhythm that would drive a common man insane. But I was neither common, nor man. It came off as relaxing to me.


	20. Maiden of Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just....searched through my emails and such, and this popped up.

**Prologue:**

Before I tell you my story, I must warn you that this tale is not for the faint of heart. What you are about to read is no fairytale, nor is it a story. This is a true account of how I met my untimely demise and how I came to be Death's precious little queen.

Do not attempt to ask for my story from others. No one dares to speak of it. Some tell it, but they mix up the details, making it sound like I had committed suicide. Others say that it is simply fictitious, a lot of nonsense. And many will tell you that they know not what you speak of. That is only because they are afraid to tell it as it actually happened. They are afraid of what Death will do to them if they speak the truth. He wants to make me oblivious to the mortal world, so that no one will think to search for my body. 

But I may and will tell it to anyone who dares to ask me through anonymous contact. Which you, mortal being, have done so. 

My name is Grace-Marie and this is my story:

* * *

It's usually every girl's dream to find her knight in shining armor. Not mine. Even at thirteen years of age, I wasn't in love with any boy, nor am I now. If anything they were just my friends or complete idiots. When he showed up, my life slowly began turning into pure hell. 

It was an almost normal Monday in homeroom. The only circumstance that made it abnormal was that the sky was unusually dark. 

"Even for a Monday morning," I noted quietly as I stared out the homeroom window.

Was it supposed to storm? The weather report didn't mention a thing about a storm. On the contrary, it said that it was supposed to be sunny for the entire week. 

"All right! Settle down, eighth graders," yelled our homeroom teacher, Mrs. Madigan in her foreign New Jersey accent.

The others immediately went to their seats.

"And seventh grader," she said, giving me a glare that meant 'Sit down right now or I'm going to rip your limbs off.'

For some reason, Mrs. Madigan despised me. Maybe it was because I was smart enough to be able to move up a grade, so I was the only seventh grader in Mrs. Madigan eighth grade homeroom. Didn't she have a reason to hate everyone of her students, though? If she did, I was the one who got Mrs. Madigan's dislike served especially harsh. I blushed slightly as I sat down in my seat in the middle.

"Well, we have a new student today. He moved here from, um, hang on a minute," she said, looking through some papers.  
"Ah! Here we go. He moved from some place called Mortamus. Please give a warm welcome to Lucius Blake."

A tall, slightly handsome young man walked to the front of the classroom, wearing a black dress shirt and blue jeans. His smooth, dark brown hair and emerald-green eyes made the eighth grade girls swoon and faint. 

"Lucius is also a seventh grader. Looks like she won't be so alone in this class anymore," said Mrs. Madigan, staring at me.  
"So, where is Mortamus, Lucius?"

He hesitated a bit, then spoke.

"It's a small town in Iowa."

His voice was chillingly creepy and had a seductive purr, which made the other girls swoon once more. Chills ran up my spine as he spoke, especially since he wouldn't take his emerald green eyes off of my sapphire blue ones. 

"Oh, how wonderful!" said Mrs. Madigan.

I was taken aback. The tone in her voice had suddenly changed. She, too, seemed like she had fallen under a spell and was now as enamored of Lucius as the eighth grade girls were.

Someone elbowed my rib. I turned to see Bella, an eighth grader who I was friends with. She looked as entranced as the others.

"Isn't he handsome, Grace?" she asked, lovestruck.

"Ehh. He's..... decent," I said.

"Does anyone have any questions for Lucius?" Mrs. Magian asked.

Immediately, the hands of every eighth girl shot up into the air.

Lucius looked deep in thought as to which hand to call upon.

"Bella," he said, decidedly pointing at my friend. 

I had the strangest feeling that this boy was no ordinary boy. How did he know Bella's name? He barely knew her for ten minutes and he already knew her name! No one else seemed to notice this, not even Bella, who asked the single question that was on every eighth grade girls' mind.

"Um, do you have a girlfriend, by any chance?" she asked, blushing.

He paused for a bit as all of the other girls leaned forward in curiosity.

"No, I'm single," he said.

Immediately, the eighth grade girls began to squeal in excitement. I rolled my eyes. Didn't anyone else notice that he barely knew Bella for five minutes and he immediately knew her name? I decided to try it out once more. I raised my hand.

"Grace-Marie Sullivan," he said without hesitation.

Now I was sure that he was anything but ordinary.

"What are your favorite school subjects?" I asked. 

I tried to see if he could, somehow, read minds. If he could, he would say that his favorite subject were my favorite subjects. I like them all, but I especially enjoy English and Choir. I was thinking it when he spoke.

"I like them all, but I especially enjoy English and Choir," he said, without hesitation.

My eyes grew wide in fear. This boy was beyond extraordinary. No, he went past extraordinary long before my question.

"Wow! A well-rounded young man. You may take a seat," said Mrs. Madigan.  
"I know you're going to think I'm a bit strange if I tell you this, but I'm surprised that you're single. You should get a girlfriend, but you shouldn't break her heart. Unlike he who broke mine!"

We all groaned. The schedule for Mrs. Madigan's homeroom was listen to announcements, take attendance, and, for whatever time we have until first hour, listen to our teacher go on and on about her ex-boyfriend Leroy and how big of a jerk he was to her. We all hated to hear about Leroy and his supposed jerkiness, especially me. Whenever Mrs. Madigan talked about Leroy, she would always stand near my desk. But we never interrupted her. If we did, it was detention for a month.

'Make it stop! I wish she would just lose her voice!' I thought.

As if by magic, Mrs. Madigan's voice started to croak a bit. It kept croaking for a minute until it was gone completely. Mrs. Madigan was shocked and she kept on trying to speak. But it was no use. 

She grabbed a blue whiteboard marker and began to scribble upon the board. The marker squeaked and scribbled until it spelled out a message:

"Class is dismissed early today."

The rest of the class grabbed their things and headed out. I slowly gathered up my books when a hand gently touched my shoulder. A chill ran through me and I turned around. Hovering above me was Lucius. In all of the excitement, I guess that the other girls decided that he wasn't worth. Either that or they were looking through the window in the door, waiting for him to come out so that they could ambush him with questions and invitations to parties at their houses that didn't even exist.

"Would you like me to carry some of those books for you?" he asked. His seductive purr still remained.

"I can get them myself," I said, quickly.

I reached for my Geometry textbook when he grabbed my wrist.

"Please. I insist. A beautiful, young lady like yourself shouldn't have to carry so many things."

"Look, I appreciate the offer, but I can get them myself. Plus, I'll be late to class."

I turned to leave when I realized that he was still keeping ahold of my wrist. 

"Let go of me," I said.

"Why? Don't you feel safe around me?"

"Let go! You're hurting my wrist!" I yelled. 

"You seem like a nice girl, Grace. I'd like for us to get closer together..."

He jerked me closer to the point where I was almost touching him.

"... If you know what I mean," he whispered, seductively, looking into my eyes.

Tears were silently dripping from my eyes and I was turning deathly pale, as I usually did when I was afraid. I needed another miracle to happen. But, considering the position that Lucius had me in and the circumstances, it seemed pointless to hope for another miracle. At least, that was what I thought.

As if God had heard my prayers, the door swung open and a bunch of eighth grade girls came swarming inside. They immediately crowded Lucius, pushing me to the back of the crowd. For once I was glad that they were obsessed over him. I grabbed my books and headed out as quick as I could. 

Bella was waiting over by the door. It looked the other were trying to make sure that she didn't steal Lucius, especially since he was able to figure out her name first.

"Why didn't you come out right away?" she asked.

This was a problem. Should I tell about what happened? One one hand, she's one of my best friends. But on the other hand, she probably wouldn't believe me. Even I didn't believe that it had all been real. I decided to tell only my closest friends, which included Bella.

I told her about how he wanted to carry my books, how persistent he was when I told him that I could carry them myself, how seductive he sounded, and how the girls came rushing inside crowding him and pushing me back.

"I'm not surprised. They were going nuts that entire time."

They? I gave her a look that said 'I'm pretty sure that you weren't a bystander in that situation.'

"Okay. We were all going nuts. He's just so attractive. Like Andrew Garfield."

"No, Andrew Garfield is not attractive," I pointed out.

"He played Spiderman. How is that not attractive?"

"I just think that he looks better with the mask on. Besides, if Lucius is anything like Andrew Garfield, then they are both seductive. I'll never fall in love, especially with a seductive man like Lucius."

"Grace, how could you not fall in love with him? His hair is just so perfect and you become lost in those entrancing, emerald green eyes."

She made a good point. How could I not fall in love with someone like that? Maybe it was because I knew how to discover a man's inner idiot. Maybe it was because he wouldn't stop staring at me. Maybe it was because of his seductiveness. I don't know. Whatever it was, I knew that I would never, ever fall in love with Lucius. 

* * *

As the day progressed, I got even more spooked by Lucius. He would always try to find a spot next to me. And if he didn't get one close to me, he would stare at me non-stop. What did this boy want from me? My love for him, which was completely non-existent?


	21. The Purple Fox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have no clue.

"Scribble! Scrabble! Scrobble! Vroom vroom!"

My crayon dashes across the paper as I create the sound effects. In between every few sounds, I punctuate them with a laugh, and a loud one at that. 

"Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrroooom! Yip yip, dibble dop, yopple yahooey!"

All of the other kindergarteners sit quietly and color their pages. Well, they don't seem to really color. It's more like shading with crayon. Not a single other kid besides myself seems like they're having fun with their coloring page. They don't even seem to be alive. To me, in order to color, you have to add life.

"Roop roop roop dibble-dee-dum!" 

Suddenly I feel a huff of air on my shoulder. My eye glances over to see that snobby, Melinda June. She seems to be scanning my picture yet again. 

"What's that even supposed to be?" she asks in that little six year old snob voice of hers. 

I hold up my page and admire it.

"It's art. It's life. It's wonderful!" I exclaim excitedly.

My eyes give off a spark and I smile. She huffs and raises her hand, waving her arm wildly. She misses me by just a few inches each time the hand flies.

"Teacher, teacher! Lydia's coloring outside the lines again!" 

The rest of the class puts down their crayons and crowd over by me and that Melinda June. Mrs. Koby, an old woman with glasses and short, light gray hair, walks over to my table. 

"Alright, move out of the way!" she orders the rest of the class. 

They shuffle to the side like penguins while Mrs. Koby sits down beside me. Once again I have a scanner looking at my art. 

"Lydia, I think you missed the directions. I gave you a picture of a fox and you were supposed to color it in." 

"I DID color it in, teacher," I answer proudly. 

"You didn't do it right!" spits that Melinda June.

"Foxes aren't purple!"

I hear snickers and giggles from the others and it makes me so mad. 

"How do you know?" I ask her intensely.

"Have you seen every single fox on earth?"

"I've seen enough to know they aren't purple."

"It could be a rare fox! And besides, it's my coloring page. I can color it how I want to."

"Can not!"

"Can so!"

"Can not!"

"Can so!"

"Can not!" 

"Can so!"

"Enough!" Mrs. Koby says. 

She turns to the rest of the kids.

"You all go back to your coloring pages. That includes you too, Melinda."

As that Melinda June flounces past me, her curly blonde pigtails almost smack my face. I grab a green crayon and try to continue working on my fox. 

"Just a minute, Lydia," Mrs. Koby coughs. 

"I'd like to see you out in the hallway with your fox."

Oohs and snickers sneak through the class. 

"Lydia's in trouble. Lydia's in trouble," I hear them sing softly. 

I stick my tongue out at them as I follow Mrs. Koby into the hall. Softly she shuts the door and turns to me. 

"Lydia, did you read the directions?" she asks.

I nod. 

"They were to color in the coloring page you gave us, which is what I did."

"Yes, but your fox is supposed to be the same colors as a fox would be. And you were supposed to stay inside the lines."

"Why?" I ask.

"Because I said so. Now you have a choice. I can let you start over with a new coloring page or you can sit out for the rest of art time."

"But coloring inside the lines is boring!" I exclaim. 

"Sometimes when I pour water in a glass, it overflows outside the glass. Sometimes when my mommy bakes, the dough rises out of the pan. And in the hallways, we don't always have to stay in a single file line. Why are all of those things okay to go outside the lines, but not my coloring?"

"Lydia, you need to stop acting like a baby and listen. I'm the teacher and I know what is best for you to learn. Now you can start over, you can sit out quietly for the rest of art time or you can go to the principal's office for the rest of the day. If you start over, you can get a gold star."

Now you gotta understand that getting a gold star is the kindergarten version of winning the lottery. If you get a gold star, you're the class celebrity for the rest of the day. But something in the pit of my stomach tells me that the gold star isn't worth it, in this case. 

"I don't care about getting a gold star!" I yell in your typical kindergartener fashion.

"I gave my fox seventeen laser eyes, a tiara, and a unicorn horn. I don't see why it's so bad! Why is it bad for me to do all those things?"

"Because I said so," she answers firmly. 

"That's it. I gave you a warning. If you can't follow instructions from me, you'll have to learn them from the principal." 

She goes inside the classroom. It's only about a minute or two that I'm alone out in the hallway, but to my six year old mind, it feels like an eternity. That feeling in my stomach begins to crumple together like a ball of paper, squeezing my stomach inward. My legs knock against each other and my teeth quickly collide with one another. It's as though my whole body is at war and my brain can only watch it happen. 

After what seems like forever, Mrs. Koby comes back out and hands me a pass as well as my backpack and lunch box.

"I've called your parents and they're on their way to pick you up. You may come back when you decide you can follow simple instructions like a good student."

With that she slams the door. At least to me it seems like slamming.

* * *

Tears roll down my face as I wait in the principal's office for whichever one of my parents has the misfortune of picking me up. 

"Well, well, well," Principal McIntire scolds. 

"It seems you're here because you didn't follow instructions during art time. Do you still have your coloring sheet?"

I nod gently and show it to him. His eyes scan over it, the third time today. 

"Tell me, Lydia," he begins.

"What color is a fox?"

I give this some thought.

"Well," I sniff through tears. 

"They're a whole buncha colors. They can be red, gray, brown, black---"

"But they're not purple," he finishes. 

The frustration that I felt with Mrs. Koby builds back up again.

"Have you seen every fox in the world?" I ask.

"How do you know that foxes can't be purple?"

"Because they just aren't."

"Even if they're not, why can't I color them that way?" 

"Because your teacher said so."

"But why?" I groan. 

At that moment, the door opens. I find my mom standing there and she does not look happy to see me.

"Alright, Lydia. Let's go," she sighs. 

My hands shake as the frustration builds up inside of me. Why can't a fox be purple? 


	22. The Girl Who Ruined Christmas (And Then Saved it From Total Obscurity):

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know, fam.

Okay, in my defense, none of this would've started if my family had actually given me gifts in the first place. Look, it isn't my fault that my family's stingy. I happen to be the only nice one when it comes to the holidays. 

* * *

It all started a few years back. The holiday spirit was just beginning to spread. I was especially exciting about it. And no wonder, seeing that my name is Clarice, named by my grandmother for the doe in the Rudolph movie. I planned out a list of gifts that I would give and I planned out a list of gifts that I wanted. Due to my excitement, I had both lists made before the first of December. But that was everything went downhill.

I came home from school, eager for the long break and holiday spirit ahead of me. When I got inside, we had a tree set up, but it was already decorated. The tree was all pink, my little sister Amelia's favorite color. My dad was just about to lift her up to put the star on the top. They always let her put the star on top. Whenever I told them that it was my turn, their response would always be that I did it last year. 

"Mom! Dad!" I yelled as I ran towards the tree.

"You promised me that I could decide how the tree will be decorated!"

"Oh, did we? Well, you can decide next year," said my mom as she snapped a picture of my sister placing the star on top. 

I sighed in frustration. At least we had a decorated tree. And, besides, I was promised to be able to lead the cookie baking and decorating.

The next day, I woke up and zoomed straight down to the kitchen. I went to find the cookie cutters when my mom came in the kitchen.

"Clarice, what are you doing?"

"Looking for the cookie cutters," I responded without looking up.

"You don't need to. Your sister was nice enough to make a selection."

I looked up at the counter. Everything was set up. All fairy and princess cookie cutters, all pink icing, and all pink sprinkles.

"But you promised me!" I complained as calmly as I could.

"Oh, well you can decide next year."

My sister came down and I reluctantly helped frost the pink cookies (Yes, my sister had put pink food coloring in the cookie dough.). Oh, well. All of my shopping was done and they said that I could open presents first this Christmas Eve.

* * *

By the way, I'm sorry if everything's so rushed. I'm just really angry about this and I tend to hold a grudge for a long time, depending on how badly a person has wronged me. 

* * *

Christmas Eve came sooner than I imagined. I ran down in my PJs and sat down by the blindingly pink tree. My parents and my sister came down a while later. I began to grab a box and, as if by instinct, my little sister grabbed it away from me.

"Mine!" she exclaimed.

"No, Amelia. That box has my name on it," I tried to reason with her, even though I wasn't sure whose name was on it.

"No, it's mine, peasant!" 

It didn't take me too long to realize that you can't reason with a six year old.

"Open your present, Amelia," said my dad.

She began to violently tear off the wrapping paper.

"What the? But I! No!!" I stuttered.

"You promised me that I could open my presents first!"

"Oh, well you can do it next year," was my dad's lazy response.

My sister opened her presents and my parents opened theirs. Finally, it was my turn. I began to find a package with my name on it. The thing was that there wasn't a package in sight with my name on it. I turned to my parents.

"Mom. Dad," I said as calmly as a girl who's been cheated a hundred times can manage.

"Where are my presents?"

They looked at each other.

"What presents?" they asked. 

I was on the verge of losing it. 

"Well, time for bed," my father announced hastily,

"Don't forget to set out your stockings."

We hung our stocking over the fireplace and went to bed.

* * *

That night, I was awoken by a loud thump. It was probably Santa, but this was also the perfect night for burglars to rob you in my neighborhood. I crept downstairs. I peeked around the corner and had to cover my mouth to keep from making a sound. In the dark, I couldn't see his face, but I knew him by his large silhouette. 

"Santa Claus," I whispered to myself. 

It was him. I watched him do his work and then exit up the chimney. Now was my chance. 

In the years past, my stocking always seemed to be empty Christmas morning. But I knew better that year. I snuck downstairs towards the stockings. I always kept a flashlight on hand. I shone the light on the fireplace; the stocking were hung neatly in a row. Finally I found the one with my name on it and snatched it from the fireplace. 

Inside were tons and tons of treats for me. Below it were several wrapped packages-large ones, in fact. I shone the light on them. They were all for me. I looked at the rest of them; my sister got a few things, but not as many as I did. I was almost about to cry. 

"But then how come the stocking comes up empty?" I inquired.

Suddenly I heard footsteps come downstairs. In a panic, I jumped behind the couch and hid, dropping the stocking on the floor. The footsteps came into the living room.

"How on earth did that brat's stocking fall on the floor?" my mother's voice inquired.

I peeked out a little from the couch. I saw my mother's feet as she picked up the stocking and whatever fell from it. Without a care, she dumped it all into Amelia's stocking. Then she pushed the big gift for me under Amelia's stocking. 

"That takes care of that," she said. 

"That brat doesn't deserve a thing. Next year, my ass."

Then she snuck back upstairs. 

When it was quiet, I crept out from the couch. So that explained why it came up empty for me. 


	23. A Letter To Survivors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apocalyptic consequences from teen boy.

If you are reading this, then I congratulate you. I don't know how you managed to survive the Apocalypse, but you gotta keep on your toes to avoid my fate.

My name is Casey. I'm fourteen and I live in San Diego, California. At least I did until the apocalypse. I had a boyfriend named Trent. Five foot seven, has a grade point average of about 11, and he likes sports. Anyways he has a cousin named Jeremiah and he was coming to visit. I decided that we should go bowling together. Now I didn't know why back then, but Jeremiah gave me the creeps somehow and I felt safer if Trent was with us.

Saturday comes and we go bowling. All that time, Jeremiah was giving me this look, like he was trying to put me under a spell or something and it was really freaking me out. I excused myself to the bathroom, in hopes that I could relax a bit, after about thirty minutes. Things got even stranger though. Some girls in there were talking about a dark monster on the loose in San Diego and how it was gonna start an apocalypse, leaving only a few survivors including himself and his girlfriend who would be chosen ahead of time. I told myself that they were just trying to scare themselves. 

When I went to wash my hands, I looked in the mirror and saw, not just my reflection, but another guy as well. My reflection seemed scared and when she saw the guy, she fainted. The guy picked my reflection up and walked away. I tried to shake it off, but where the reflection should've been was, in red, capital letters,

THE APOCALYPSE WILL COME TONIGHT AND THE DARK LORD WILL GET YOU. LEAVE THIS PLACE NOW, CASSANDRA!!!

Now I really freaked! No one called me Cassandra unless I was in trouble and, boy was I ever in a lot of it! I dashed head over heels, without looking back, to my house, which is within a mile of the bowling alley. A few minutes later, Trent came walking in the door and asked me what was wrong. I told him about the reflection and the writing and he went to make me some hot tea to calm my nerves.

Later, I heard the back door open and suddenly the lights went out. No sooner did I hear a scream and then a bang. I ran into the kitchen to find Trent, lying down eyes open and covered in blood. That looks familiar, I thought. Then suddenly I heard screams from everyone in the neighborhood. I went to a few of the houses and it was the same. A bloody mess of people. I found a few people still alive, but they were shocked by what they had just seen.

I sped back to my own house and I started to feel a chill go up my spine. As soon as I walked in, the front door shut and locked itself.

"Well, well, well. What have we here?"

A villainous tone made my blood go cold and I turned around to see Jeremiah standing in front of the door with a knife covered in red, the same stuff that was on the mirror in the bathroom in the bowling alley, the color of blood....

I tried to run out of the back door, but it was locked as well.


	24. Sugar And Spice Aren't Always Nice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (CW: Injection/needles)

To whom it may concern,

I don't know how long I have been on the run, but I cannot write much. I fear that it may catch up to me. If it does, I will suffer a more horrifying fate than I would have. I'm risking my life, and yours, to tell you this, so read at your own risk.

I came from a small town in the Upper Midwest. As a child, I heard many rumors of a monster that roamed the woods on Halloween Night, searching for innocent souls. Chances of a successful escape are incredibly slim. The few who have escaped its grasp do not wish to recount the events that took place. Those who are sane enough after the escape have all said the same thing-that this creature was the most horrifying thing that has ever been encountered by man. The tale goes as follows:

"Many years ago, there was a young girl who had gone trick or treating on Halloween night. On her way home, a group of teenagers jumped her and stole all of her candy. Now, this young girl wasn't like any other kid. Her father was a neurosurgeon and her mother was a sociopath as well as a skilled hypnotist. Without showing a single tear, the girl looked around and found that the teenagers had dropped the pieces of salt water taffy and other 'scrap sweets-' candy that no one wanted. She picked up every piece around her and ran home.

"Dropping the candy in her room, the little girl searched the house for a syringe and a needle as well as a few household cleaner chemicals. She blended the candy together with the cleaners and poured the mixture into the syringe. She then tightened the needle and, aiming carefully, injected herself with the mixture. After that, no one heard from the girl again. 

"The first incident happened many years later. A sixteen year old was out trick or treating all by himself-he was the son of a gang member who had jumped the little girl. The streets had become eerily dark, even for Halloween Night. He soon heard the crunching of wrappers behind him. Turning around, he could see nothing, so he turned back and kept on walking.

"Soon he heard it again. He turned around, but he couldn't see anything.

* * *

"It can't be possible," people exclaimed after they heard the tale.

Foolishly enough, I agreed that it just couldn't be true. How I would discover, years later, that my agreement was dead wrong. 

It happened on Halloween night. I was sixteen years old and had developed a sense of independence. Because of this, I yearned to go out trick or treating by myself, unlike in the past. My parents, however, insisted otherwise.

"It's too dangerous to go out alone, Leanne," they exclaimed.

"Don't tell me that you believe in it too," I groaned,

"It's just a myth. I'll be back at eleven-thirty."

Oh, why didn't I listen to them? 

* * *

The night drew on as I collected my earnings. Halfway there, I decided to stop and look through my inventory. 

"Salt water taffy? Candy corn? Ugh!" I exclaimed in disgust.

"Sometimes I feel like that the neighbors purposefully save the scrap sweets for the older kids."

All of a sudden, I hear a growl behind me.


	25. I don't have a title for this yet, all I know is that it gets weird as fuck

He promised himself he wouldn't bring another one home. He knew it was a bad habit of his, one that he had resolved to stop. But the appeal was far too great, especially when it came to the younger women, and she was too good to resist. Perhaps she would be different from all the others.

He always came down to the park every Wednesday to look for the special ones. Not just any pretty face could catch his attention. She also had to have a certain aire about her. It had to resonate in a candy floss aural. How he could see what aural each had no one knew, not even he himself. The only explanation he could fathom was that this was a genetic trait, as his father had mentioned it when he was teaching him. Nonetheless he used it at will. And his will demanded this pretty girl.

He turned on his charm and strolled up to her. She looked so youthful, so innocent, couldn't be any older than seventeen. Her porcelain face matched the dolls his father kept all those years. Her sweet, brown curls accentuated her hazel eyes. And her nose. Why, it was one of the tiniest he'd ever seen! She was perfect. 

He was so lost in her beauty when he felt a bump. She fell backwards, but his hand whipped out and caught her just in time. 

"Thank you, sir," she gasped, her cheeks began to blush. 

He tipped his top hat as he helped her back to her feet.

"How may I ever repay you?" she gushed.

He waited a moment, as if he were considering his repayment.

"It is not how you may repay me. It is how I can repay you," he purred kindly.

His voice was smoothed and strummed like a low harp. 

"Perhaps you'd like to join me for dinner tonight at my estate."

Her eyes widened in awe. It only made him more excited. 

"I would be delighted," she answered calmly, suspecting nothing. 

He held out his arm and lead her to the carriage he had waiting nearby. He tipped the driver as they got into the carriage with the velveteen seats covered red. 

"The manor, sir?" the driver inquired. 

He had only to give a nod before the driver whipped the reins and set the horse at a light trot back the way they came.

* * *

On the way over, he couldn't help but watch her glance out the carriage window in a dazed and enchanted state. It seemed clear that she had never been asked to dinner by a gentleman. A woman who had been escorted before would show a dimmer aural around her, but hers was pure, soft pink. Perhaps she could settle the black aural he saw surrounding himself.

She requested they keep the window open. The fresh aire of late July gave her life, especially when the evening grew nearer. As the sun started setting and the moon began to glide upward into view, she only found herself more invigorated, yet entranced at the same time. 

Finally the carriage began to slow down in a cobble-paved cul-de-sac and halted gently in front of the large, blood-rouge manor. 

"Welcome to my humble abode," he greeted as he helped her out of the golden-laced carriage.   
"What do you think of it?"

Her eyes widened once again and he chuckled quietly. This lovely lady was almost too innocent to a fault. 

"I think it's wonderful," she gasped in awe.  
"As well as a bit macabre, but I don't mind."

Now this was a slight surprise. 

"You don't?" he inquired as he held out his arm.

She shook her head as she gently took it.

"Not in the slightest. I've always had a sort of appreciation for darker things. They're very unique." 

He glanced over and found that she seemed to be studying the manor as they glided up the front steps. 

"This manor doesn't look very current. Looks to have been built during the reign of Victoria. Was it handed down to you?"

He nodded.

"From my father, and his father before him, and so forth."

"Was he religious?" she wondered indicating to the stained-glass window on the front door of the rising of Christ. 

"No, but my mother was. She decided that the manor needed slight renovations after they were married."

He laid a hand on the golden knob and turned it with barely any force. There was a small click and the door swung open, almost seemingly by itself. The two stepped into a dark, tall hallway. The moonlight reflecting off the walls revealed accented pine green wallpaper. Photographs lined the walls of various women, all smiling. Atop the ceiling was a small, golden chandelier, just a few yards above the man’s head.

In walked an old man with a tuxedo, neatly pressed and crisp to perfection.

“Arvis,” the young man laughed as he bowed.  
“A most gracious evening to you, I must say.”

“I can see why,” Arvis noted as he nodded at the pretty girl.  
“Shall I tell the cook and maid to set for two?”

“Of course you shall! After all, it’s not everyday I find such a lovely young lady.”

“Of course, young master,” Arvis replied, bowing before promptly turning around and walking away.

“What a peculiar butler,” the pretty girl remarked.  
“He seems to move like clockwork.”

“Well,” the young man added nervously.  
“The Victorians were rather fond of clockwork figures, whatever they were called."

“I believe they were called automatons.”

“Ahh!” he exclaimed.  
“Yes, that’s it! The staff have quite the fondness for the steampunk and automaton phase of the Victorian Era, as do the guests that come here. And Arvis is certainly one to please the people.”

“Do you have guests here often?”

“I’m afraid not,” he sighed despondently.  
“Time does call upon us at most misfortunate hours. I think of time as a quilt, delicately sewn, and each thread is a person who comes into our lives. You seem to have managed to slip through my needle’s eye, my dear. Quite fortunate.”

She beamed, bringing the sunlight into the foyer before her eyes fell upon the women in the portraits.

“Who are they?” she inquired.

The young man shrugged.

“I suppose wives of the previous owners.”

“Had you not met any of this?” 

“I’m afraid I haven’t,” he informed her.  
“Many of them were rather delicate young women, easily succumbing to disease.”

“How sad,” the pretty girl gasped sympathetically.  
“I do pray that your wife does not follow the same fate.”

“Not on my watch she won’t,” he assured her.  
“Come, why don’t we wait in the parlor for the supper to be ready?”

* * *

The room that he let her into was rather immaculate, particularly for a home built in the Victorian era. The wallpaper was the same pine green that she had seen in the foyer. 


	26. When the Feather Falls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's extremely short, but unfinished, so it counts.

My grandma had a saying that went   
"When the feather falls, the wind may blow it around, but the feather controls where it lands on the ground."   
Sounds pretty stupid, I know. How the hell do feathers control where they land?


	27. Hortensia is Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You think you know "Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead?" 
> 
> Within the events of the show, a girl named Hortensia finds that a man named Horatio is dead; she killed him. At least she was told. Feeling the need to carry out his duties, Hortensia goes undercover as Horatio.  
> But things are not as easy. Queen Gertrude knows of Hortensia and wants to adopt her as her own. To do this, she will either need to kidnap or force her into marriage.   
> As the tensions rise, Hortensia begins to uncover secrets about her life; secrets that may change her purpose and who she is. 

The sunlight hits my eyes. I awake to find myself in a room decorated for a princess. Luxurious furniture, riches, jewels as far as the eye can see. It all seems too good to be true. Perhaps it is.

"Where am I?" I ask groggily.

I try to stand, but find difficulty. I look down. Ropes bond me to an oriental chair. 

"What the hell is this?"

"You're awake."

I gasp

"The process won't be as easy then."

I look up at the sound. Standing in front of me, with a villainous grin and in all her finest garments, is the royal lady herself; Queen Gertrude.

Quickly I clear my throat as I try to go into my Horatio voice.

"Uh, what am I doing here, your majesty?" 

"Don't even try that with me," she purrs.  
"I knew you were the one who lived to see the end of the Polack Invasion, not Horatio."

"My brother," I say in a low voice; my own voice.

"Yes. He was a fine young man," she slowly slithers round me, almost hissing every word.  
"Hamlet was good friends with him, of course. Still thinks he is."

"Still?"

She goes over to a vase of roses in the room as if I hadn't said a word. A knife in one hand, she lifts a rose from the vase with the other and begins to fluff up the petals.

"He was a good soldier too. Pity that I wanted to do this so quickly. The only way to do that without suspicion was if he had been, in some way,---"

At this her knife hand stops at the neck of the stem and, with a sweep, slashes the flower from its neck.

"---disposed of."

As the flower drops to the floor, a sickening sensation hits my chest; one in which I felt when misfortunate had occurred. 

"You killed my brother?"

At this she gives a puff of laughter.

"I? Of course not. A lady never does the dirty work. I hired for someone to. It wasn't as easy, though. Horatio put up quite a fight according to him."

"What makes you think you can get away with this?"

"Identity, of course. I'm a royal. Not one person would suspect me of murder."


	28. Bottle Lotto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I find things that really make me question my mental stability. 
> 
> This is one of them.

It was midnight. The boy, no older than thirteen, made his way deep into Shivercreek Forest carrying a black cloak. The limp in his foot slowed him down; a bone deformity that he had possessed since birth. Leaves crackled beneath him. He hadn't walked this path alone before and felt afraid to go any further. But the idea of him finally belonging somewhere-to something-kept him going. He soon heard the snapping of flames and the sounds of drums and chanting nearby. The boy picked up his pace eager to take part. As soon as he entered the clearing, everyone became silent. The boy was told to come forward. As he did, a figure in a long black cloak stepped down from a log with ease and approached him. 

"Who are you?" the boy shivered.

The figure said nothing and instead gave two snaps. As if Pavlov himself had programmed them, a girl and a boy with glowing green eyes and wearing identical uniforms rushed to the sides of the figure.

"Skoúro Dáskalos must not be spoken to," the girl said in a robotic tone.  
"Skoúro Dáskalos is always first to speak."

The boy raised an eyebrow as the boy with the green eyes handed him a bottle with liquid the same color as the boy's eyes.


	29. Illumination Adolescence

"Come on. It's just a little further," I told them.

It was my turn to bring in new recruits. I'd coaxed two girls my age into coming with me to the Riverbranch Woods.

"What's this club called again?" the short one asked.

"It's not a club," I hissed annoyed.  
"It's an organization."

"You're just saying that to sound professional, Kaspry," the taller girl sniffed loudly.

"Am not. Now shut up or you'll wake the dead, Jamee. Here we are."

We stopped below the treehouse of the Illumination Adolescence. I grabbed onto the first slab of wood and hoisted myself up the ladder we had crafted. 


	30. Psychosis Paranoia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Read at your own discretion, people. There's weird shit ahead.

I'm an ordinary man. That's the one thing people say that they know for sure about me. And I scoff at them. An ordinary man? Not I! Not when I possess such great skill. 

The talent seems to run in the bloodline; our family is gifted in the arts of witchcraft and illusions. I have never shown my talent to anyone. Not to this day! Not until a while back.

I had made a bet with my friend Hugo Morris. We were talking over our afternoon tea about a fortnight ago. I was telling him about my skills. He took it like any sensible person would; as a fairy tale that I had brought back from my youth.

"Magic? Witchcraft? You must be mad, Richard!"

"I'm as sane as anyone on this planet, which is saying quite a bit for mankind."

He looked at me as though I had lost my marbles. 

"God, man! I can never tell when you are a grown and sensible man or when you are a child trapped in a grown man's body. I advise you to give up this fantasy, Richard."

"I'm telling you. It's true!" I exclaimed as I pounded my fist on the table. 

Heads began to turn in our direction and I knew that I had everyone's attention.

"Well then, Richard. If what you say is true, then how about we make a wager on it?"

"I'm listening."

"I am willing to give up my winnings from the Ascot Race if you can create some sort of magic for all of us to see."

"And if I can't?"

"Then you owe me the same amount."

"How much are the winnings?"

"£5000 in banknotes."

Five thousand pounds? It seemed too good to be true. Maybe it was.

"Show me your winnings, Hugo," I ordered.

In a flash, he pulled out a stack of banknotes. All of them added up to five thousand pounds.

"I'll take that wager."

I knew that my tricks could not fail. They never failed. Those banknotes were as good as mine!

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" I called out to those outside of the cafe and in the streets,

"Prepare to be amazed by the magic of Richard the Great! For this trick, I require a young volunteer."

I scanned the growing crowd of people and spied a young, wide-eyed, frightened, little girl in the front. She had blonde curls and sea blue eyes. In her hand, she carried a small, stuffed bear. She wore a red dress with a bow to match. She was perfect for this routine.

"You there! The little girl with the bear. Come here!"

Cautiously the little girl shuffled up to me.

"What is your name, my dear?" I asked her.

She quietly muttered something under her breath.

"I'm sorry, dear. I didn't quite catch that."

"L-L-Lilly," she whispered.

"And how old are you, Lilly?"

"Six and a half."

"Wonderful! And, oh! Who is this charming, little fellow that you have in your hand?"

"M-my bear, Mr. Chuckles."

"Brilliant! Now, Lilly. Do you know what hypnotism is?"

Lilly shook her head.

"Well then, today you shall find out! Now come and sit down on this chair."

Lilly cautiously sat down on the chair trembling in fright. As she did, I took out a pocket watch and swung it back and forth in front of her face.

"Lilly, I want you to follow the pocket watch with your eyes. Keep your head still. Only focus on the pocket watch and my voice."

Obediently her eyes swung with the watch. And soon enough, she began to look sleepy.

"Lilly, I'm going to count backwards from three. When I reach zero, you will fall into a deep sleep. Three. Two. One. Zero!" 

I snapped my fingers and Lilly went limp. The audience gasped in amazement. This child was now nothing more than a puppet. 

"Lilly, from this moment on, until I break the trance, everything that I tell you is the whole truth, the absolute truth, and nothing but the truth. Is that understood?"

She nodded slowly. 

"Good. Now, imagine that you are no longer a human being. Instead you are a windup toy. Whenever you hear the word windup, you will windup and walk like a windup toy. When you I say stop, you will stop wherever you are and sit on the ground. Understand?"

She nodded again.

"All right then. Windup!"

Immediately she stood up and began to walk around like a child's toy; her feet marched quickly around in a circle. Everyone gasped in amazement.

"Stop!" I ordered.

Immediately she came to a halt and sat down on the ground next to my table.

"Now, Lilly. You are no longer a windup toy. Instead you are a little canary bird who sings for people. When I say sing, you will sing like a canary for us. When I say tweet, you will go around and twitter like a bird. When I say stop, you will come to a halt and sit down wherever you are, understood?"


	31. Toys R Us Always

If you come into my town, it would seem completely normal. But not quite. Just on the outskirts of town is this creepy old Toys R Us store. The only difference from other Toys R Us stores is that it has a different mascot. The original mascot.

You see, not very many people know that there was a mascot design before the giraffe; it was a very creepy, demonic, clown head. It sits right on the sign with its red eyes scanning the abandoned lot. The company tried to remove the mascot from the sign, but something kept them from doing it. 

Some say that the guys sent to remove it kept falling and dying. Others say it can't be removed; that a spirit possesses the mascot and keeps people from taking it down. I say that that ugly thing has too much value to the town, for some reason. Unlike most of the people here, I don't believe in ghosts.

* * *

"Come on, Matilda. Hurry up!" my best friend Lily calls out to me.

"We don't want to miss tea time."

I walk at a leisurely pace, holding up a book entitled "Psychologist's Handbook for the Advanced." I'm studying a chapter on hypnosis when I feel a bump. I fall to the ground with the book at my feet. 


	32. The Little Rosary Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An exercise for my Creative Writing course that I didn't finish.
> 
> linda, thomas, church, parents, prayer  
> 3rd person omniscient. 

Linda and Thomas sat in the pews of the dusty old church, the smell of dust and old holy water lingering through the air. How long had it been since they had last been here? They couldn’t remember, perhaps it’d been years, decades, maybe even centuries.

The two carried a sense of melancholy from that tragic day. Linda constantly heard her agonizing cries when she had been told their daughter had been killed in a street brawl. They encircled her mind as demons surrounding Faustus before he was dragged to the Inferno. Oh, did she ever felt she was being dragged to the Inferno by those cries! 

Thomas was plagued by the guilt of the sins he had committed: adultery, gambling, lust, pride, greed, wrath, hypocrisy. They stuck in him as pins in their cushions, and the pain seemed to truly manifest itself within him. All of those sins……they all came about after that tragic day. Both of them felt that same heartache of that tragic day, when one of their neighbors had told them about their daughter’s death.

The two said nothing to one another, as they sat in the pews of the dusty old church. What was there to be said? They thought they had loved one another, yet the agony of that tragic day had severed that knot. Thomas had seen Linda’s attitude change after that tragic day. He wasn’t as oblivious as she used to joke he was. They began to snap at one another, nonetheless they stayed with each other, even now. The church would’ve cast them out if they had separated. Thomas couldn’t stop dwindling funds to purchase enough ale to drown his sorrows in or to gamble at the alley fights. To him there wasn’t enough salvation that could turn him away from sleeping with a mistress, or even all of his sins, just to forget that tragic day.


End file.
